Panting, arms still shaking, Dante pushed himself up off Fenrir. He sat down beside the man, rubbing his face. He knew Fenrir was going to stay down as soon as he'd unloaded all the electricity into the man. So he could take a minute, breathe, try to get some energy back. This had been a lot harder then when he'd shocked Peyton. Speaking of...
Dante looked back over his shoulder. Fenrir's eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving. His chest wasn't rising either. Ah, shit. Dante reached to the man's neck, feeling for a pulse. "Fuck," he muttered. It wasn't that he was opposed to Fenrir being dead, just not in front of so many people. That in itself was another problem Roger was gonna have to deal with, cuz Dante sure as shit wasn't going to.
Getting to his knees, Dante placed a hand solidly on Fenrir's chest, over his heart. He had to close his eyes and draw in a few deep breaths before he felt his internal charge spark up again. He pulled a shock from deep within his chest, flowed it across his shoulder, down his arm, out his hand and to Fenrir's heart. The lycan's body jumped beneath his touch, then was still again. Well. At least he was alive now. There was an angry red handprint on his chest, but that was the price you paid for living. Of course, they couldn't just sit in the hallway and wait to be discovered, though surely someone had called an authority figure by now.
Fenrir was a big fucking dog man. Dante managed to hoist him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift (thank God for demon strength) and started off down the hall with him. "Fucking move," he said irritably to the spectators around him. He looked more annoyed than anything else.
Where was he headed? The infirmary. His jaw was broken and Fenrir was half dead and in his opinion, Wesley owed Dante a few favors.